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THE WHITE CRYSTALS
Being an Account of the Adventures of Two Boys
BY HOWARD R. GARIS
AUTHOR OF "WITH FORCE AND ARMS," "THE KING OF UNADILLA," "THE WHETSTONE
OF SWORDS," ETC., ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
BERTHA CORSON DAY
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1904
_Copyright, 1904_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Published October, 1904
TO
MY SON ROGER
THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
[Illustration: "'No, sir,' replied Mrs. Kimball, firmly, 'I won't
sign'"]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE DOCTOR'S ADVICE 1
II. THE SALT CITY 11
III. A TEST OF STRENGTH 20
IV. IN DEEP WATER 31
V. GATHERING THE HONEY 41
VI. A LOAD OF GRAPES 51
VII. LOST ON THE MOUNTAIN 61
VIII. FIGHTING A WILD-CAT 69
IX. OUT OF THE WOODS 78
X. BAD NEWS 87
XI. COPPER AND OLD BONES 99
XII. JACK FROST 110
XIII. LAFAYETTE HILL 121
XIV. A DESPERATE RACE 131
XV. STRANGERS IN TOWN 141
XVI. QUEER OPERATIONS 151
XVII. ROGER SUSPECTS 160
XVIII. A BIG BLACK BEAR 169
XIX. ROGER MAKES PLANS 177
XX. UNDERNEATH THE GROUND 187
XXI. ROGER TAKES A JOURNEY 196
XXII. A QUESTION OF LAW 208
XXIII. THE PLOTTERS FOILED 220
XXIV. DIGGING FOR SALT 229
XXV. THE LAST WRESTLING MATCH 237
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"'No, sir,' replied Mrs. Kimball, firmly, 'I won't
sign'" _Frontispiece_
"Roger held up the fish pole so that Adrian could
grasp it" 38
"Its forepaws struck the boy on the shoulders" 76
"The Cardiff sled left the beaten road, and plunged
into the almost unbroken snow of the fields" 137
"His heart beat suddenly at the idea which came
to him" 188
"Then Roger began to raise the lead to the surface" 191
THE WHITE CRYSTALS
CHAPTER I
THE DOCTOR'S ADVICE
Dr. Glasby looked over the rims of his spectacles at the boy before him.
Then he glanced at Mr. Anderson, cleared his throat with a loud "ahem"
that made Roger start, and said, very ponderously:
"Um!"
"Well?" asked Mr. Anderson, a little anxious tone coming into his voice,
"what's the verdict, doctor?"
"Um!" said the physician again. "Nothing very serious, Mr. Anderson.
Roger, here, is a little run down, that's all. He's been studying too
hard, his eyes are a trifle weak, muscles flabby, and his blood hasn't
enough of the good red stuff in it. In short, he must live out of doors
for a year or so, and then I'll guarantee he will come back with red
cheeks and a pair of arms that will make you proud of him. Eh, Roger?"
and Dr. Glasby pinched the rather small and soft biceps of the boy,
smiling the while, good naturedly.
"No disease, then, doctor?" from Mr. Anderson.
"Nothing, my dear sir, except a general poor condition of the system."
"Don't he need medicine, a tonic, or something? His mother and I are
quite worried about him."
"Not a drop of medicine for this patient," exclaimed Dr. Glasby. "Fresh
air, fresh country air, and more air. That's all."
The physician turned aside to replace the apparatus he had used; the
stethoscope, with which he had listened to the beating of Roger's heart,
the eye-testing mirrors and lights, and the lung-cylinder, into which
the boy had blown more feebly than Dr. Glasby had liked to see.
"Then your prescription is--?" began Mr. Anderson.
"Have him drop his books and studies, stop school, at least for a year,
and get out into the country. You'll have to see for yourself that it is
put up, for no drug store could supply those ingredients. Can you
arrange it?"
"I think so, doctor. I'll try, anyhow," and, with a hearty handshake,
while his face wore a more relieved look than when he entered the
office, Mr. Anderson left Dr. Glasby, taking Roger with him.
The journey home was rather a quiet one between Roger and his father.
They boarded a surface car on Broadway, and, as it swung along through
the turmoil of this principal New York street, they were thinking of
what they had just heard. Moving now fast and now slow, according to the
obstructions of trucks on the tracks, the car clanged on its way. Once
it stopped short, suddenly, to allow a spark-emitting fire engine and a
swaying truck with long ladders to dash by to a blaze. Then Roger leaped
to his feet, watching, as long as possible, the exciting rush of the
red-helmeted and rubber-coated men, his eyes brightening as he noted the
plunging, rearing horses.
"Let's get out and go to the fire!" he called to his father.
"Not now, son," answered Mr. Anderson. "Your mother will be anxious to
hear what Dr. Glasby said, and we don't want to delay and cause her
worry, you know."
"All right," agreed Roger, with just a little disappointment in his
tone, for he did want to see the fire. But he soon forgot that in
wondering what would happen if he didn't have to go to school for a
whole year. The suggestion contained such possibilities that he was lost
in a maze with plans of what he would do with his time.
Meanwhile the car continued along more rapidly, and it was not a great
while before father and son reached home. Then, as Roger helped his
five-year-old brother Edward to build a castle out of blocks, Mr.
Anderson told his wife the result of the visit to Dr. Glasby. She was
much relieved when she learned there was nothing serious the matter with
her son, and there was a happy look in her eyes as she glanced at her
two boys playing together on the floor.
The Andersons lived in a large but pleasant apartment house on the "west
side," as it is called in New York. It was on Thirty-third Street, just
west of Ninth Avenue, along which thoroughfare the elevated railroad
passed. It was so near this, that in warm weather, when the windows were
open nights, Roger could hear the rattle of the trains and the clatter
and hum of the electric motor cars. In fact it was quite a noisy place,
where Roger lived, but no one in the neighborhood seemed to mind it, or,
if they did, they had grown so used to it that they never spoke of it.
Of course there was no yard, and no place to play, except in the street,
for space is too valuable in New York to have yards to houses. But there
was the flat roof of the big apartment, where scores of families lived,
and Roger and his boy friends sometimes enjoyed their sports up there.
Roger Anderson was just past his fifteenth year, rather small for his
age, and not nearly as strong and sturdy as his parents wished he was.
Lately his eyes had been troubling him, and he had complained of
frequent headaches. He was in his first season at high school, and what,
with taking up Latin and algebra, two new worlds of study for the boy,
he had been rather closely applied to his books at night. As he was
ambitious he threw himself into the vim of learning with an energy that
was pleasing to his parents and teachers, though it had a bad effect on
his health. For, after a few weeks of school, it was noticed that he was
failing in energy. There were many days when, in spite of his desire, he
felt disinclined to go to his classes, and he was troubled with
dizziness. In short he seemed in such poor shape that Mr. Anderson
determined on a visit to Dr. Glasby, the old family physician. That
night, after the consultation with the medical man, when Roger had gone
to bed, his father and mother sat up to talk the matter over.
"I don't like to think of his losing a year's schooling," said Mr.
Anderson, as he thought how valuable education was.
"Better that than to have him get really ill and have to stop
altogether," replied Mrs. Anderson.
Both were silent a few minutes, turning the question over in their
minds.
"I suppose we should follow Dr. Glasby's advice as soon as possible,"
said Mrs. Anderson, at length. "I wonder what we ought to do. Where can
we send him? Oh dear! I don't at all like the idea of his going away
from us. I just know he'll sit about in damp shoes, and his buttons will
all come off, for they are always loose, and no one to sew them on."
"Well," said Mr. Anderson, a little twinkle in his eyes, "losing buttons
isn't to be compared to having one's health break down, and, as for wet
shoes, he can take pairs enough along to change whenever he gets in the
water. Still I must confess I don't like to think of Roger being away
from us, but he'll have to leave home some day, I suppose, and there's
nothing like getting used to it. I went away from my home when I was
fourteen years old."
"It was different when you were a boy," said Mrs. Anderson, and her
husband smiled, while he wondered how it was.
"Where do you suppose we can send him?" went on Mr. Anderson. "Dr.
Glasby says a year in the country. Now we can't afford to pay heavy
expenses, yet I am determined the boy shall have a free run in the fresh
air, and live out doors for a change."
Mrs. Anderson thought for a moment.
"I have it!" she cried, suddenly. "He can go to his Uncle Bert's, at
Cardiff. It will be the very thing for him, and when you get your
vacation next summer we can all go up there and see him."
Mr. Anderson hesitated a minute, for that idea had never come to him.
"I believe it will be a good plan," he said heartily. "Yes, I'm sure it
will. I'm glad you thought of it. We'll send Roger to Cardiff."
Thus it was settled that Roger was to give up his studies, which
announcement, when he heard it next morning, made him both glad and
sorry.
It was a fine day in October, and school had been in session a little
more than a month of the fall term. The visit to the doctor had been
made on Saturday. Sunday was spent in talking over the subject more
fully in the Anderson household, and in writing a letter to "Albertus
Kimball, Esq., Cardiff, Onondaga County, N. Y." This man was Mrs.
Anderson's farmer brother. On Monday, instead of going to school, Roger
accompanied his father down town, where they did considerable shopping
in the way of buying some clothing and underwear for the boy's outfit.
Mr. Anderson also got a stout valise, and filled it with articles he
thought his son might need. Then, rather tired with tramping about, they
had dinner in a busy restaurant on Barclay Street, much to Roger's
delight, for he seldom ate in such places, and it was quite a treat to
order just what he liked best.
After lunch Mr. Anderson went to the high school where his son was
enrolled, to give notice to the principal of Roger's withdrawal.
They arrived just before school assembled for the afternoon session,
and, while Mr. Anderson was talking with Mr. Blake, the principal, Roger
wandered into the familiar court-yard, where he met a number of
classmates.
"Going to leave, eh?" they all questioned as the news got around. "Say,
Roger, you're a lucky chap. I wish my father would take me out of
school."
"I believe I'd rather stay," said Roger.
"Oh, cut that out! What you giving us!" called several, sincerely, if
not politely.
"No, I would, really," insisted Roger, and he honestly meant it, though
he could not help feeling a little important over the small excitement
he was creating among his companions. Still he did like his studies very
much, for he was just beginning to appreciate the inspiration of Virgil,
the wonders of the science work, and the sturdy exactness of algebraic
equations.
A few minutes later Mr. Anderson came out of Mr. Blake's office, and the
two men walked over to where Roger stood. Mr. Blake shook hands with
him, gravely, and, while expressing regret that his pupil was leaving
school, agreed that it was best, under the circumstances. He hoped to
see Roger back again, he said, much improved in health, and, with cheery
good-byes from his companions, the boy walked out of the school-yard
with his father. There was just the trace of tears in Roger's eyes,
which he hoped his father wouldn't see, for, after all, it was rather
hard to leave such a lot of fine chums as he had.
For the next few days there were busy times in the Anderson home. Such
an overhauling of Roger's clothes, such a sewing on of buttons, double
strong, almost enough for a small army of boys, such a darning of
stockings, and a mending of rents in coats and trousers, and such
admonition and advice as his mother gave him, from never forgetting to
say his prayers, to not neglecting to clean his teeth. For he had never
been away from his parents before, in all his short life, and it was a
momentous occasion.
The novelty of the affair, and the anticipation of adventures in store
for him, kept Roger from thoughts that he might possibly be lonesome or
homesick, after he had started away. Under the stimulus of preparation
he even began to feel better in health. His pale cheeks showed a little
color, and his head had not ached since he had been to the doctor's.
On Thursday a letter came from Uncle Bert, telling Mrs. Anderson to send
Roger right along; that they would all try to make him comfortable and
happy. So it was arranged he was to start next Monday night, and, to
Mrs. Anderson, the time, until then, seemed altogether too short,
though, boylike, Roger thought the intervening days would never pass.
His ticket had been purchased, his valise packed, and by Sunday night
everything was in readiness. At church that day the boy felt his eyes
grow a little misty as the choir sang the solemn songs, but he made up
his mind that he must play the part of a man now, at least as far as
appearances went. So he gulped down the lump in his throat.
The train was to leave the Grand Central Station of the New York Central
Railroad at nine o'clock Monday night. The last arrangements had been
made, and Mr. Anderson prepared to accompany his son to the depot.
"Bwing me back suffin' nice, Roggy," called little Edward, sleepily, as
he put up his cheek to be kissed.
"I will, Eddie, I will," said Roger, his voice trembling a bit, in spite
of his determination to be firm. He cuddled his baby brother close to
him.
"Now be very careful, my boy," said Mrs. Anderson, for at least the
twentieth time. "Clean your teeth every day, and change your shoes as
soon as you get your feet wet."
Her motherly eyes showed a suspicious brilliancy, and her voice was not
as steady as it usually sounded. She hugged Roger closely to her, and
gave him a kiss that he long remembered, and then, with a broken
good-bye, she turned and went into the house, while Roger and Mr.
Anderson started for the station.
They stepped out briskly, boarded a surface car, and were soon rattling
toward Forty-second Street, where the depot was located. Roger was to
take a train for Syracuse, a city twelve miles from Cardiff, to which
village he would go by wagon or stage. There was plenty of time before
nine o'clock, but Mr. Anderson believed in being a little ahead of a
train, instead of behind it. He didn't give his son much advice, for he
knew Mrs. Anderson had said all there was to say, and he realized that
Roger was a boy who didn't need to be cautioned after what his mother
had told him.
The train Roger was to go in had already been made up, and the porter
showed him to his place in the sleeping-car, where he had a lower berth.
"Now, my boy," said Mr. Anderson, looking at his watch, "you have ten
minutes before starting time. I think I'll leave you, as you are in good
shape here, and I want to get back to your mother. I know you will get
along nicely, and I needn't say I know you'll do what's right, at all
times, for I'm sure you will. Your Uncle Bert will meet you in Syracuse,
when you arrive there in the morning, and you don't have to change cars.
The porter will look after you occasionally. Now, good-bye," and with a
hearty handshake Mr. Anderson left Roger alone.